


Macaroni, or not?

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Oneshot, Supernatural - Freeform, supernatural oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:36:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot. Dean thinks he's too old for macaroni.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macaroni, or not?

“Hey,” I poke my head into Dean's room. He's sitting on his bed, polishing his boots. He looks up at me and smiles.  
“Hey, what's up?” Dean puts down one boot and picks up another.  
“I'm making macaroni, you want any?” I tap the door frame and look around. Dean's room belongs entirely to him, from the guns on the wall to the picture of him and his mother.   
Dean chuckles slightly, the turns to me, his face serious. He runs his finger along his expertly made bed. “(Y/N), you see, I'm a man. Men eat manly food, like hamburgers, or pie, not macaroni. Little kids' moms make macaroni for them.   
“In all of my travels and experiences, I have cut the heads off of vampires, staked Pagan Gods, and exploded a dickhead Leviathan.” He moves across the room quickly, his face close to mine. I can feel how hot his breath is, and the smell of his leather jacket. “I've been to Purgatory, Hell, and Heaven. I've pulled knives out of my stomach, and bullets out of my arms.” Dean puts a finger under my chin. I try to move back a bit, not sure of what it is that he's doing.  
“Dean, that's really nice and all, but-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.  
“I,” Dean all but yells. “am what you'd call a man. I hunter, a protector. I take care of others, but I also take care of myself. I cook my own food, drive my own car, and wash my own body like a big boy. I do not need you to make me macaroni, (Y/N), I'm not a baby.”  
I scoff, and look Dean dead in the eyes. “You sure?”  
“More sure than any other thing in my life, sugar.” He's close to me again.  
“They're Spongebob shaped.” I blink.   
Dean sets his jaw, a look of internal struggle on his face. Finally, he slams his palm against the wall near my head. His face changes from serious to pure want. “I want two boxes.”


End file.
